


Bonds of Power

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Magic, Power Swap, The Alpha Pack, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles suddenly wakes up as an Alpha werewolf and finds out that Derek has become human, he reluctantly accepts Derek’s pack as his while they attempt to find out what exactly happened and how to reverse it. But as they all try to adjust to the situation, the Alpha Pack is breathing down their neck, and they’re going to need all the help they can get to face that threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [teenwolf_bb](http://teenwolf-bb.livejournal.com/). Huge thanks to maybemalapert and morganoconner for being the most awesome alpha-readers and cheerleaders. You helped shape parts of this story, and our word wars really pushed me to write even when I was feeling stuck. Big thanks also to my lovely beta akadougal.
> 
> Delugedpapercup made [art for this story](http://delugedpapercup.livejournal.com/5663.html), including the deviders I used here.
> 
> Edit: Chaney also made [a manip](http://archiveofourown.org/works/599597) for this story.

Stiles picks up the jar of mountain ash first, because it’s usually a good base, but he puts it back on the counter after a second thought. Mountain ash tends to repel supernatural creatures and energies, block them off, and that’s not exactly what he’s going for here. Instead, he takes the jar of labradorite dust, smiling a little at the dog-like name, and pours a good handful of it in the bowl in front of him. 

He adds in a little bit of rosemary, some powdered juniper berries, and a fair dose of basswood bark. Then, a fingertip pressed against his lips, he cocks his head to the side, thinking. Something’s missing. Ah, yes, that could do it. Stiles opens the gemstones box and picks up a small, pink, translucent gem. The morganite catches the artificial light as Stiles puts it down next to the bowl.

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“Well,” says Dr. Deaton, “let’s see.”

The veterinarian smiles, then opens the wooden box containing a single Indian aconite flower, dissipating the protective spells over it with a brush of his hand. _Aconitum ferox_ , Stiles knows. Not poisonous in itself to werewolves, but it prevents them from healing. Hunters don’t really use it, they prefer the more aggressive forms of wolfsbane, but it’s perfect for studying healing rituals.

Scott watches nervously as Dr. Deaton chops up the flower with a sharp knife, then walks up to him with said knife in hand. But he’s agreed to this, and if Stiles messes up he’s pretty sure Deaton can fix it, so he holds out his arm to the vet. Deaton cut’s the skin of Scott’s forearm with professional precision, and Scott hisses as blood starts to pour out.

“Okay,” Stiles says, determined. “Let’s do this.”

Under Deaton’s watchful eyes, he makes Scott sit down on the floor and takes a handful of the bowl’s contents, letting it drip out of his fist to form a circle around his best friend. Intent is everything when you’re doing magic, so Stiles concentrates, forces himself to look at the cut, at the blood now dripping on the floor next to Scott.

He kneels in front of the werewolf, pouring the rest of the mixed powder in his right hand. With the left one, he presses the morganite gem against one end of the cut on Scott’s arm, and Scott makes a small pained noise, very faint but there. Stiles forces himself to ignore it as he holds the gem in place and covers the cut with the powder in his right hand, visualizing in his mind the wolfsbane vanishing, the cut starting to heal. His breathing is labored, his head buzzing as he focuses, but suddenly he can see Scott’s skin slowly starting to mend.

“Yes!” Stiles shouts, fist-bumping the air, letting his mind go back to its usual distracted state. He’s going to have a hard time concentrating on things for the next twenty-four hours, but it’s worth it, because he did a _thing_.

“Well done, Stiles,” Dr. Deaton says calmly.

“I wasn’t quite sure about the juniper berries with the basswood at first, but the morganite totally made it work, right?”

“Yes. Though personally I would have gone with the basswood for base instead of the labradorite, but then I have an affinity for plants, whereas I believe you might be more strongly connected to earth.”

Stiles is scooping the powder on the floor back into the bowl, because you never know, it might come in handy at some point and it would be stupid to waste it. He looks up at the vet, though, frowning.

“Connected to earth?” he prompts, because Deaton always does that, drops a little bit of information that he will not expand on unless Stiles asks for more details.

Deaton smiles like he’s proud Stiles picked up on this.

“Witches,” he says, and Stiles’s eye twitches like every time Deaton uses that word to refer to people with an affinity for magic, “can draw energy from six elemental sources: plants, which are my personal inclination, earth, like you seem to be doing, favoring minerals, fire, water, the moon and the sun.”

That’s just fascinating, and Stiles is about to press the vet for more details, but the door of the clinic opens. Since it’s after hours it means someone with a key, and both Stiles and Scott are already in, so that leaves only one other possibility.

“Hey Isaac,” Stiles says without turning around as he finishes cleaning up.

“Hi Stiles,” comes the easy reply. “Dr. Deaton. Scott.”

Isaac has been passing by on a regular basis. Deaton is teaching him some of these neat werewolf tricks that Scott has shown Stiles, and the young werewolf has been casually keeping them up to date with the Peter situation (Derek rarely lets him out of his sight, but he seems okay and not particularly murder-inclined) and the Alpha pack situation (no real news on that front, they’re here somewhere but haven’t shown themselves). Stiles actually likes Isaac when he’s not trying to be a badass.

“Hello Isaac,” Deaton says with his usual calm, but his voice is slightly colder when he adds, “Derek, Peter.”

Stiles turns around and sure enough, Derek and Peter Hale are in the clinic with them. Derek looks at the blood Scott is currently cleaning off his almost-completely healed arm, then eyes Stiles with heavily-concealed curiosity. The fact that Stiles knows Derek’s almost identical facial expressions well enough to read him like that is kind of weird, but it’s Stiles’s life.

Peter leans against the wall next to the door, trying to look as non-threatening as he can, but Stiles is with Derek on this one, he doesn’t trust the former Alpha.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asks, frowning in the general direction of the Hales. 

“I needed to talk to you,” Derek says. “About the Alpha pack.”

“They’re your problem, not mine,” Scott says, dismissively.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Come on, dude, for once he seems to be willing to spontaneously share info.”

Scott looks at him like Stiles just betrayed him. Stiles shrugs. What harm can talking do? His eyes catch a glimpse of Peter’s vaguely amused expression, still nonchalantly leaning against the wall, and looks away, feeling a little bit uneasy.

“Alright, what do you want then?” Scott asks Derek, eventually.

“We picked up what we think might be their scent, and it lead us close to your house. So keep an eye out,” Derek grits out.

“Wait, near _his_ house?” Stiles cuts in. “I thought they were here for you, looking up the new Alpha and all. What does Scott have to do with it?”

“How would they know you’re… _he_ ’s not pack?” Derek snaps back. “It makes no sense for a young werewolf to be an Omega in a town where there’s a pack.”

“It makes sense when you’re the Alpha,” Scott replies.

Derek doesn’t say anything to that, his jaw clenching, his eyes squinting like he’d really like to throw something against a wall. Or someone. Stiles resists the urge to take a step back, no matter how prudent it would seem. He’s learning not to show weakness or fear in front of a big, scary predator such as a werewolf. Well, it’s a work in progress.

“We’ll let you know if we see anything,” he says when the silence stretches for too long, because he hates that tension. They are all on the same side here, and there really is no point in fighting each other.

Derek nods, which is as much of a thank you as anyone could expect from him, and walks out the door.

“You know, there are much worse Alphas than my admittedly incompetent nephew,” Peter tells them. “But you’re probably going to see that by yourself sooner rather than later.” He shrugs, then follows Derek outside.

“We already have,” Stiles shouts after him. “You were a _TERRIBLE_ Alpha!”

There’s no reply, but he knows Peter heard him.

Derek glares at Peter when he slips inside the Camaro. Peter doesn’t even look fazed by what Stiles shouted, even though it’s true. He’d been a terrible Alpha, acting like a monster in some horror movie, lurking around Scott and trying to turn him into a murderer and not teaching him anything, leaving him alone at his first full moon. Making him hate his nature. And then, he acts as if he’s so much better than Derek.

Peter raises an eyebrow at him, managing to make it look almost mocking, and Derek grinds his teeth before turning the key in the ignition. They drive in silence for a little while, until Peter reaches towards the radio with the clear intention to turn it on. Derek shoots him a look that he wishes could kill.

“Okay, okay, no music,” Peter says, taking his hand back. “But you know, your conversation skills are kind of lacking.”

Derek’s only reply is a low growl. Peter sighs dramatically.

“What I wouldn’t do, sometimes, to have someone like Stiles to entertain me,” he continues. “Seriously, you should keep this kid around, and not only for his very useful and pretty mouth. Forget Scott, it’s Stiles you should want in your pack. I know I did.”

Derek steps on the breaks and the Camaro comes to a brutal stop in a screech of tires.

“What the Hell?” Derek barks, and Peter’s answering smirk is just enraging.

“Come on,” his uncle says, nonchalant. “The kid’s resourceful, incredibly loyal, has great instincts and, as it turns out, he’s a witch! You know how powerful witch werewolves can be.”

“Because randomly turning someone who doesn’t want the bite is the best way to convince them to join the pack,” Derek snaps. “It turned out so well when you did that to Scott.”

Derek knew that neither Scott nor Stiles would ever forgive him if he bit Stiles.

“Just because I messed up that part doesn’t mean you have to. He wants it, you just need to convince him that you’re not me.”

Did Peter just admit that he’d been _wrong_ about something? That might be a first. Still, Derek doubts there was anything he could do to convince Scott to join him, and that Stiles would never betray his best friend.

“Forget it, I’m not going to offer the bite to Stiles.”

Derek starts the car again, feeling even angrier than he did when they left the animal clinic. Peter has that effect on him. It’s been incredibly hard to resist the urge to slash his uncle’s throat again, maybe cut him in half afterwards to make sure he stays dead. But he needs any manpower he can get, now that the Alphas are here. They don’t know what they want yet, but it can’t be good. It’s _never_ good.

“Fine, suit yourself,” Peter says. “We still need a witch.”

“We have Deaton,” Derek grits out.

The vet said he would help, though he hasn’t really proven that useful yet where the Alpha Pack is concerned. He only hears rumours, ones that Derek’s heard before, about how they roam the country and leave a trail of death and fear behind them in the supernatural world, and are good enough never to get caught by humans, hunters or otherwise. Some say they have witches with them, some say they have witches _among_ them, and all agree that whatever they want, it’s never good.

“I don’t trust Deaton,” Peter huffs, almost pouting. 

As a rule, Peter doesn’t seem to like anyone who isn’t scared of him, and doesn’t trust anyone period, though, so Derek decides to ignore him.

Neither of them says another word for the rest of the drive back to the family house but Peter is an unnerving presence in the car, darkening Derek’s mood just by being there. Just by being.

When they arrive, Derek stomps out of the car and goes straight inside. He walks up the stairs, refraining from just leaping up, and shuts himself in his room. His shirt probably doesn’t deserve to be taken off quite so forcefully, but between Scott’s renewed rejection and Peter’s... well, _Peter_ , he has a lot of anger to work out.

Derek grabs his barbells from the corner of his room. He knows it’s not really necessary, the muscles don’t provide that much extra strength. That’s been even more true since he became an Alpha. But still, it’s always been a way for him to clear his head, to stop thinking.

He tunes out the sounds of Peter working on repairing the stairs as he begins lifting. Derek’s anger starts to recede after five minutes, and he’s mostly calmed down by the time he moves on to doing push-ups.

He only stops about an hour later, when he hears Isaac come back from the vet’s. He meets him in the hallway and they exchange a few words, but Isaac doesn’t have much to say and he trails off to the room he’s claimed as his own, the one that used to belong to Derek’s little brother.

Before his thoughts can drift to painful memories, Derek shakes himself and walks up to the bathroom. Someone –probably Peter, but it also could have been Isaac– has replaced the broken glass door of the shower with a white plastic curtain. There are most likely more important things to repair or replace in this house, however Derek can’t deny that it makes the place look more civilized.

The water is lukewarm and the pressure too weak, but it still feels good to wash out the sweat and stress of the day. When he turns the shower off and grabs a towel to dry himself, he finds Peter leaning against the door frame. He’s not surprised; he’s heard him arriving. Still, it irritates him.

“What do you want?” Derek asks flatly as he towels his hair, not bothering to cover up.

“You got a text,” Peter says, waving Derek’s cellphone. “From Stiles.”

“Give me that,” Derek growls, snatching the phone from his uncle’s hand.

“Calm down, I didn’t read it.” Derek doesn’t have to look at him to know Peter’s dramatically rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to know if it was anything interesting.”

“No,” Derek replies shortly after skimming through the message. Then he pushes past his uncle and goes back to his bedroom, even though he’s still dripping water.

Once he’s in the privacy of his own room he finishes drying off before sitting down on the bed and opening the text again. He didn’t lie, there’s nothing of vital importance in there, it’s just Stiles babbling.

_Hey, dude, just wanted to thank you for keeping us up to date with the whole Alpha Pack thing! I’ll make sure Scott lets you know if he sees anything, or at least I’ll make him tell Isaac. Scott really likes Isaac, you know? It’s a good thing too. Isaac seems to need to feel loved after all that happened with his dad. I know you tend to express yourself by shoving people against walls, but you should make sure he knows you care, you know? Anyways, I’m rambling, so yeah, thank you, and don’t worry about Scott too much. Don’t be a sour wolf!_

Derek feels both exasperated and amused by Stiles’s parting words. He reads again the part about Isaac and Scott, wondering if there’s a risk Isaac might leave the pack and join the other teenager. If that happened, it would leave Derek weak, with Peter his only Beta. 

Jackson doesn’t count, he’s not quite a werewolf, he’s something else, so he can’t be pack. Well, he could, in the same way that humans can be pack, too, but Alphas can’t draw strength from them. Jackson wants to be left alone, anyway.

Derek mulls it over as he slides under the covers. He can’t... He’s not the kind of person who can easily show feelings. He’s not going to give Isaac hugs (that would be just awkward) or go easier on him during training (that would be just stupid), but maybe he could try and give him some words of approval? 

He doesn’t know why he takes Stiles’s words so seriously. Probably because they only voice Derek’s inner fears. Erica and Boyd left him. Even when they realized it had been a ruse and there hadn’t been another pack, they didn’t come back to him when Chris Argent let them go. Scott not only left him, he’s rejected him constantly, and only joined him briefly as part of his plan.

Not for the first time, Derek wishes that Laura was still here. She’d been a good Alpha to him. She wouldn’t have messed things up the way he did. Which makes Peter’s presence even worse. Accident or not (and Derek still wasn’t sure he believes his uncle when he says he never meant to kill Laura), he’ll never be able to forgive Peter.

Derek dreams of the fire. He dreams of the moment when he felt his Alpha (his _father_ ) burn, their bond a liquid flames of pain. He’d fallen from his chair, and then Laura had been there, running through the classroom door and wrapping her arms around him as they felt the pack bond turn to ash. 

As he wakes up suddenly in the darkness of his bedroom he can still feel it, can still feel his pack slipping away from him, but this time Laura isn’t here, and there is no new bond forging between the two survivors. Derek shouts as the bond between him and his pack gets torn from him, along with something else, something that’s always been a part of him, even after Laura’s death, when he was completely alone...

Isaac and Peter burst through the door but Derek can’t feel them, all he can feel as he lays panting between the torn sheets is absence. There’s a void in his mind where he can’t feel his Betas anymore, and there’s an even deeper void that he can’t identify.

He blinks in the darkness. He can’t see; Peter and Isaac are only shapes. He can’t hear the sound of their heartbeats either, or smell their scent. His senses are dull. _Human_. Once the word comes to his mind, he knows what that void inside him is. His wolf. His wolf is gone.

It’s the pain that wakes him up. How could it not, when it feels like every cell of his body is on fire. Something rushes though his vein, hot and strong, and Stiles cries out, a long agonizing sound as his back arches from the bed. He thinks he can feel bones crack and reset, in his back, in his arms, his hands, his legs, everything. 

His fingers claw the mattress and it tears. His shout goes from human to animal as he feels his face _shift_ , skin rippling over morphing bone structure. When the pain finally recedes, Stiles takes long, panting breaths.

He knows even before he sits up and looks in the mirror. He knows, because there are fangs in his mouth, because he’s slashed his mattress with long claws, because he can see in the darkened bedroom as if it was day. He knows because he can hear the neighbors complaining about stray dogs, because he can smell the flowers from the neighbors’ yard and the dirty laundry in the bathroom basket. He knows, but he doesn’t believe it. Can’t believe it.

And yet the mirror doesn’t lie. Stiles gets up, walks towards it. Slowly, almost carefully, he lifts a clawed hand to his face, touches the flat, strong nose, the thick, brown hair on the side of his cheeks. His long ears are puzzlingly hard but somewhat soft at the same time, with a tuft of hair at the tip.

The fangs are... They’re _huge_ , is the first thing that comes to Stiles’s mind. Huge and sharp. His whole jaw has changed, it’s wider, more square, and full of killer teeth. He wonders how awkward speaking must be.

“Hello,” he says to the mirror, and it sounds angry, threatening. The adrenaline from the change is still coursing through his system, so that might be why. 

“I’m a big, bad wolf,” he tries again, snarling. The werewolf in the mirror looks scary, charismatic, powerful. His eyes glow red. 

He has no idea how this happened, how it’s even remotely _possible_. Even if he’d been bitten and somehow didn’t remember it, his eyes would be yellow, like Scott’s and Isaac’s. Not Alpha red. Stiles’s heartbeat picks up, his breathing becomes more labored as fear starts to flood his mind, and fuck, that’s the beginning of a panic attack.

It’s difficult to calm himself when all of his senses are heightened and he can barely cope with the flow of information that his nose and ears keep sending him. But Stiles has had a lot of practice fighting these attacks, and he takes deep breaths, trying to shut down the smell-taste of sweat and anguish.

As his heartbeat slows down, he shifts back. It’s painless, nothing like his first change. It’s like peeling off a layer of clothing, or stepping out a tub of hot water. He can still see in the dark, can still see his reflection, startled and frightened. His eyes glow briefly red.

Stiles doesn’t think; he pulls on his jeans and grabs his phone, already walking down the stairs as he dials Derek’s number. It rings three times, and Stiles is unlocking the Jeep’s door when someone answers.

“That’s not exactly the best moment to call, Stiles”

It’s Peter. Stiles doesn’t want to have to deal with Peter.

“Where’s Derek? I need to talk to him.”

He can hear Derek’s voice in the background telling Peter to give him the damn phone.

“We have a bit of a situation here, so I hope this is important,” Peter tells him before handing the phone to Derek.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, “because I’m having a situation and if you’re having a situation too I doubt it’s a coincidence. I’m freaking out! Are you at your house?”

“Calm down,” Derek groans, “and tell me what’s happening. Is it the Alphas? Are they at your place or Scott’s?”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head even though Derek can’t see him. He pulls out of the driveway and turns towards the woods. “It’s not that. I don’t know how to say it, it feels surreal. It sounds crazy when I think the words in my head.”

“Stiles!” 

Derek sounds annoyed and impatient. It’s familiar and reassuring, somehow. Stiles takes a deep breath.

“I’m a werewolf. An Alpha, to be more exact.”

The other end of the line goes completely silent. It’s the shock, he thinks. Or disbelief, because, as he said, it sounds completely insane.

“Stiles,” Derek eventually says, his voice tight, “get here as fast as you can.”

“Already on my way, dude.” He speeds up nonetheless, because the streets are empty and he has supernatural reflexes now. “You said there was something going on at yours, though?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.” 

Derek hangs up. Which is a good thing, because Stiles just realized he’s been speeding while on the phone, and his dad’s on patrol. If he gets caught, he’s so dead.

Stiles thinks about calling Deaton as he leaves the main road and starts driving up through the denser woods towards the Hale residence, but he doesn’t know what’s waiting for him there, so it’s better to wait until he’s sure it’s safe. The road is in a better state than it used to be, and it’s a good thing because the old Jeep’s not made to go that fast on bumpy terrain. When he comes to a halt in front of the burnt house, it makes a plaintive noise that lets him know he’ll soon need to make a trip at the mechanics.

They’re waiting for him on the porch. He walks out of the car and he’s immediately distracted by _everything_. Now that the engine’s silent he can hear wings flapping, an owl hooting far away, dead leaves rustling as countless animals walk beneath the trees. The night has never been so loud to Stiles’s ears.

There are smells, too, scents that he can’t identify but are wild; probably foxes and rabbits, stray cats and deers, all the creatures that belong out there. On top of it, closer and everywhere, are the smells of earth and trees, of the grass beneath his feet, and three distinctive scents that he knows without a doubt belong to the men in front of him. Who have been staring at him for a whole minute now, as he just stands beside the Jeep.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbles, stepping forward. “I just got a bit... not overwhelmed, which by the way, how is it even possible to not be overwhelmed by all... all _this_?” He waves his hand around wildly.

“I don’t smell anything different,” Isaac says, looking at Derek.

“You wouldn’t while he’s in human form. His scent will only change when he shifts.” Derek looks right into Stiles’s eyes then. “Show us.”

“Um, I don’t know how?”

Stiles bites his lip. It’s not entirely true, he knows he has to get angry, or scared to trigger the change. What he doesn’t know is how to provoke these feelings.

That’s when Peter leaps down from the porch, all wolfed-out and menacing, blue eyes glaring at him and claws slashing in his direction. Something that feels like instinct kicks in and Stiles moves, faster than human, catching Peter’s wrist and twisting it hard enough to make him fall to his knees. Something in the back of Stiles’s mind wants to throw Peter down, to make him _submit_ , and Stiles lets it take over.

He’s not quite sure how he ends up straddling Peter’s body on the ground, or even how he got the other werewolf down, but there he is, holding him down, his fangs just an inch of Peter’s throat. Peter who’s human again and throwing his head up to bare his neck in clear submission, which is probably the only reason Stiles hasn’t torn him to shreds.

“Holy shit!”

Stiles ignores Isaac’s words and just growls at Peter. When a hand touches his arm he turns toward Derek, snarling.

“Stiles,” Derek says, calmly. “Stay in control. Don’t let it take over.”

“I _am_ in control,” Stiles retorts, because he is now. But the adrenaline’s still coursing through him, and all of his senses are focused on keeping Peter _down_.

“Then prove it. Let him go.”

“He attacked me.”

“To make you shift,” Derek explains, irritated. “And it worked.”

Stiles growls, but slowly rises to his feet, glaring down at Peter. The older werewolf stays on the ground a few seconds before slowly getting up. He looks smug, though he avoids Stiles’s gaze. Stiles turns his own eyes toward Isaac, who’s changing from wolf to human, his scent going back to that lighter tone it had when Stiles arrived. Derek is standing next to him, and he can’t read his expression, but his heartbeat’s fast, too fast.

“Why are you still human?” Stiles asks, surprised. “Your heart’s racing, you should be shifted.”

Derek exhales through his nose, and it sounds pissed off and maybe a little bit embarrassed, which is just so _strange_.

“He can’t,” Peter says, and Derek shoots him a dark look, even scarier than the ones he usually graces Stiles with, and that’s saying a lot. Peter just smirks. “You’re a smart boy, Stiles. Tell me, where do you think your new Alpha powers come from?”

“That’s... what?” Stiles looks back and forth between Derek’s glare and Peter’s amused smile. “But how?”

“If we knew that, we’d already be trying to fix it,” Derek snaps.

“Wow, so the crankiness and aggressiveness had nothing to do with you being a werewolf, I see. It’s just a Derek thing.”

Derek glares at him, but for some reason Stiles isn’t scared. The thing in him that made him want to rip open Peter’s throat now makes him stretch his lips in an amused grin, and Stiles feels his body morph back to human.

Then he cocks his head to the side because he can hear a car coming, but he can’t see any lights on the road yet.

“That would be Dr. Deaton,” Isaac tells him. “We called him after you told Derek. He’s still pretty far away.”

Stiles nods, then fishes his phone out of his pocket. He taps the keys quickly then hits send, knowing that he probably should have done that earlier, but he’d been too busy freaking out. 

Deaton arrives a couple of minutes later, parking his car between the Camaro and the Jeep. He has a familiar-looking bag with him, the one the vet keeps basic magic supplies in, like mountain ash and moonstone.

“How about we all get inside?” he says amiably as he walks up to them. 

Once they’re in the house all Stiles can smell is ashes. He’s never actually been in there before, so he doesn’t know if it’s just because of his newly improved senses or if even a human would choke on the smell. It’s a very sad smell too, somehow.

He sneezes, but it doesn’t make things better.

“Oh my god, how can you guys _live in here_?” he complains. “I can literally taste the ashy dust in my mouth!”

He makes a face then, sticking his tongue out. Derek’s face is its usual slightly exasperated mask, and Peter’s raising an amused eyebrow at him which, combined with the evil goatee, makes him look quite creepy. Stiles turns to Isaac for support.

“No, seriously, it doesn’t bother you?”

Isaac shrugs. “You get used to it. Sort of. I try to focus on other scents, like the food in the fridge, or people.”

Stiles figures he might as well give it a try. Deaton smells of dogs and chemicals and herbs. It’s strong, but not very attention-grabbing, and soon Stiles is overwhelmed again by the ash.

“Derek, let’s start with you,” the vet says, putting his bag down on a wobbly table. “Tell me what happened.”

They’re standing in the living room, and Stiles drops down on the beat-up couch, half-expecting a cloud of dust to rise in the air as he does, but the place is mostly clean in spite of that horrendous smell.

“I already told you,” Derek says, frowning. “My wolf is gone. I’m vulnerable. Weak.”

“How did it feel?” Deaton presses, because Derek’s clearly not being very helpful. Though if it was as painful for him as it was for Stiles, then Stiles can’t really blame the guy for not wanting to dwell on the details.

Stiles exhales through his nose, trying to clear his nostrils of the once-again overwhelming smell. Derek narrows his eyes at him before turning his gaze back to the vet.

“It felt like my blood was boiling while someone was ripping out part of my soul,” he grits out. “To put it in _him_ , apparently, so if you can explain to me where the logic in that is, I’d be grateful!”

“Hey, I resent that!” Stiles complains, rubbing his nose. “Also, wow, dude, I don’t have a part of your soul in me. Just your powers.”

“It’s a part of _me_ , of who I am. Of who I’ve always been. Now my senses are dull and so are my instincts. How you people even survive when you’re this weak is beyond me!”

Anger and frustration emanate from Derek in waves, so thick that Stiles could almost taste it. It gives him a good distraction to the scent-taste of dust and ash, so Stiles clings to it, seeking out Derek’s scent. It’s kind of familiar, what with all the times Derek’s been in his personal space. He smells like wind and wilderness and spices.

They’re all looking at him, and Stiles realizes he’s missed a couple of beats because he was too busy taking in the scent of Derek. Which sounds wrong in so many ways. But the fact is, he’s perched on the edge of the sofa, nose turned up in the general direction of Derek, sniffing the air.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I, um, never mind. What where you saying?”

That’s when Scott bursts through the door, wearing only boxer briefs and dead leaves clinging to his hair, because apparently he’d run all the way here in like, five minutes. Which wow, that’s insane.

“Why did you do that to him?” Scott yells at Derek, without even looking at anyone else. “What made you think you had any right to make that decision for him? If that’s another twisted way to make me join your pack then you’re dead wrong! I’m going to kill you, I swear!”

“Scott!” Stiles calls, up in a second and stepping in front of Scott.

“I didn’t do anything!” Derek bites out, and Scott stares at him for a second before finally turning to Stiles.

“Oh my God, does that mean one of these Alphas bit you? Where you attacked?”

“No one bit me, Scott,” Stiles says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“But your text...” Scott looks so confused Stiles almost wants to pet him. “It said that you were at Derek’s and that you were a werewolf, Stiles!”

“Oh for Heaven’s _sake_ , did you even bother reading the whole thing?”

Scott looks sheepishly at him, and Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket and goes through his sent messages.

“‘You need to come to Derek’s, because I’m a werewolf,’” Stiles reads, “‘and Derek’s human and we have no idea how that happened.’”

“Derek’s _what_?” Scott asks, his eyes growing wide.

“Derek’s right here,” the former werewolf growls, his jaw tightening. A new kind of irritation is coloring his scent, which Stiles realizes he’s still attuned to.

Scott has the good grace to look apologetically at Derek then, briefly, before turning his attention back to Stiles. 

“How is that even possible?” he asks, looking adorably confused.

“This is what we’re trying to find out, Scott,” Deaton cuts in. “Now I was just about to ask Stiles to tell us his side of the story.”

Stiles tries to make his account as detailed as he possibly can, but there’s not really much to say about the first transformation except for the initial pain and surprise. He knows he rambles a bit on how incredible and distracting his senses are, and really how do werewolves even manage to stay focused on anything, with all these noises and smells?

“How did you stay in control?” Deaton asks, gently steering Stiles back to the important things.

“I... I don’t know, I didn’t really lose it? I was always me. Maybe a little bit more volatile, but not feral-monster like.”

“It’s not a full moon and he’s an Alpha,” Derek cuts in. “It’s easier for us to stay mostly in charge, though our instincts are stronger even when we’re human.” 

“Interesting,” Deaton mutters, pensively stroking his chin.

“Do you have any idea how this transfer of power thing happened?” Scott asks.

“Not yet,” the vet replies. “To be honest, I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

“Are we sure it was a transfer though?” Stiles wonders. “I mean yeah, the timing seems to indicate it was, but it wouldn’t be the first time we made assumptions.”

“We’re sure.”

Stiles turns to Peter, who’s leaning against a freshly repainted wall. He looks dead serious for once, there’s none of his secretive smiles, none of his aggravating cockiness that usually make Stiles want to steal his dad’s gun and shoot the creepy werewolf in the face.

“How?” Stiles swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

“The pack bond, I can feel it trying to reconnect with you, like you’re my Alpha, but you’re just shutting me down.”

“I’m doing what now?” Stiles blinks, because he wasn’t aware of any of this. He looks from Peter to Isaac, who seems confused, then to Derek when he grabs Stiles’s shoulder to make him face him.

“Stiles, you need to let them in,” Derek tells him, and he’s too close, too much in Stiles’s personal space.

Stiles reacts by pushing him against the wall, getting in Derek’s face, asserting that _he_ is the one in charge here.

“You don’t give me orders,” Stiles barks, then realizes what he’s doing with a jolt when Derek drops his eyes down. He steps back, letting go of Derek’s shoulders. “Oh, dude, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I... Sorry!”

Derek glares at him, then averts his eyes again. “We’re vulnerable,” he says. “You’re vulnerable. We... Well, _you_ need to be a pack, if we want to all stay alive long enough to find a way of fixing this.”

“But I don’t even know _how_!” Stiles complains, throwing his arms in the air.

Derek grits his teeth, like Stiles is trying to make this difficult on purpose. 

“It’s just...instinct. No, _intent_ ,” Derek corrects. “You need to think of them as pack. As yours. Yours to lead, yours to protect.”

A few months ago that flimsy explanation probably wouldn’t have helped Stiles at all. But it sounds a lot like the kind of concentration needed to cast a spell, something he’s now very familiar with. 

He closes his eyes, hoping it’ll help him focus, but it only exacerbates all the input from his other senses: he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, smell everyone’s scent and the ash on top of them, taste expectation in the air and even feel the air move around Derek when he takes just a little step towards him. It’s not helping.

So Stiles opens his eyes and looks at Isaac, thinks about all that he’s gone through with his father, then with Derek dragging him into that whole werewolf drama with promises of metaphorical cake. He remembers the way Isaac helped getting Scott on the field the night they thought Gerard Argent was going to make Jackson kill everyone. He likes Isaac. He wants to help him, lead him, protect him.

Something changes. He couldn’t say what, couldn’t describe it even if he used a million words, but it happens. Isaac makes a small whimpering sound, and then he just _relaxes_ , like a knot was loosened. There’s a hesitant smile on the boy’s lips, and it makes Stiles smile too.

“Okay,” Stiles breathes. “Okay. I can do this.”

Then he turns to Peter and winces. Because yeah, there’s no way he wants to protect Peter, not even with all these confusing new instincts of his. He _does_ want to keep him in line, though, to make sure he behaves. Make sure he obeys. That last thought is a bit of a surprise and Stiles tries not to look too closely at it.

Again there’s a little _something_ , though it’s more subtle than what he felt with Isaac. Peter smirks, so he guesses that’s enough to establish at least a flimsy bond. Stiles still doesn’t trust him. He still kind of wants to rip his throat out.

“I guess this’ll do for now,” Peter says, turning his attention back to Deaton.

The vet had opened his bag and was pulling out a few jars. Alder bark, which has been crushed in a thin powder, hawthorn shavings, and a twig of beech tree. Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“Divination?” he asks, biting down on a sarcastic “ _really?_ ” because it’s never a good idea to mock your teachers. Harris is a bitter reminder of that fact every day he has to sit through Chem.

“Very good, Stiles,” Deaton praises him. “Now, could the two of you come over here and hold one end of the branch, please?”

He steps forward and Derek follows, reluctantly grabbing the twig. Stiles resists the urge to make a “got wood?” joke, because that would be just too easy. He makes a face when the vet puts a hawthorn chip in his mouth and starts chewing on it, because eww. But it makes sense, he supposes, creating a more intrinsic link between the caster and the spell.

It looks so simple, looking at Deaton. Basic materials, basic ritual, but Stiles knows how much concentration, how much energy and how much practice and just raw power it must take to get any sort of helpful result. Deaton takes a handful of alder bark and blows it in Stiles’s face, which makes him sneeze, then he does the same to Derek. 

They wait, while Deaton keeps chewing on the piece of wood in his mouth, eyes closed. Stiles’s fingers, those holding the beech twig, tingle lightly, and Stiles can feel something in the air, like static electricity. 

When Deaton opens his eyes again, he looks disappointed. He spits out the wood chip in his hand and Stiles lets go of the twig. Derek stares at it, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, then eventually puts it down on the table, next to Deaton’s bag.

“So?” Stiles asks, but he already know the vet isn’t going to tell them how to fix things, or who’s responsible.

“All I can say is that this is indeed witchcraft, and very powerful. From the energies I sensed, I would say it might be the work of a perfect coven.”

“A perfect coven?” Stiles parrots. “What does that mean?”

“Do you remember what I told you about witches being connected to different elemental sources?”

“Plants, earth, fire, water, the moon and the sun,” Stiles recites even though he’s only heard them once, because that’s the kind of things his mind just _remembers_ , like the list of all the actors who played the Doctor even though he’s barely ever watched Doctor Who. Except, this is actually useful.

Deaton nods, and once again he looks almost proud of him, which makes Stiles smile.

“A perfect coven is composed of one witch of each element, which allows them to cast very powerful spells since they can draw energy from pretty much anything. I could sense at least four, maybe five elements in this spell, hence my deduction.”

“So now we have crazy Alpha werewolves _and_ crazy witches to deal with?” Stiles whines, because seriously, aren’t their lives complicated enough without new enemies popping out of nowhere? 

Then his eyes widen. No... It wouldn’t make sense, why would they do something like that? But once the thought has occurred to him, Stiles can’t shake it.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes out. “What if the Alphas are all witches?”

When Laura and he left Beacon Hills, Derek had felt weak, powerless. He’d let his sister call all the shots, let her be the strong one, because he couldn’t. Because he knew how absolutely catastrophic his decision-making abilities were.

With time, he came to think it was only a teenage mistake. One with dramatic consequences, one that he couldn’t ever forgive himself for, but maybe not a proof that couldn’t ever be in charge, know what he’s doing. Laura’s death had forced him to be that man he thought for so long he couldn’t be. He took control, took responsibility, and even though he knows he screwed up a few times he had been pulling it all together as best as he could.

But now, as he watches Peter, Scott and Isaac teaching Stiles how to control his anger and keep the wolf in check, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so powerless before. The panic from before has receded to a vague nauseating feeling, leaving enough room in its place for Derek to feel the void that the absence of his werewolf nature has left in him.

In the clearing in front of the house, Stiles throws Isaac away when the young werewolf tries to jump on him from behind. But then something seems to catch his attention from somewhere in the woods, something Derek can’t hear or smell or see anymore, and Peter takes advantage, moves in as Stiles’s head is turned towards the trees. He tackles Stiles, who falls on his back and immediately wolfs out, kicks Peter in the guts with his feet, sending him crash against a nearby tree.

“I still would have had the time to kill you if I wanted to,” Peter says calmly, brushing bark and dirt from his shirt. “You were distracted.”

“No shit,” Stiles snaps back. “How can you guys ever concentrate on anything with all these... with _everything_?” he asks, wildly waving his arms around, probably trying to encompass the surrounding woods and all it contains.

“It’s not _that_ distracting,” Scott frowns. “It’s been three days, Stiles, and we’re not even close to the full moon yet.”

It sounds like an accusation, and Derek is torn between agreeing with him and wanting to defend Stiles. For Scott and Isaac, the transformation had been progressive, whereas Stiles had become a full Alpha in a matter of minutes, maybe second. Who could say how hard it must have been to adapt to it. Probably as hard as it was for Derek to keep moving in this muted world.

Still, it’s been three days already. And though Stiles’s control is mostly good, his focus is terrible.

Three days. And they still haven’t got a clue about why the Alpha pack, if it was them, or an unrelated witch coven if not, might want to make _him_ an Alpha instead of Derek. They haven’t found a way to reverse it either. And if they don’t... Derek doesn’t know if he can live like this for long, in this grey, silent world.

When he looks back to the werewolves, Stiles is stomping off in the direction of the house, and Scott looks like a sad puppy. Derek must have missed Stiles’s reply, lost in his thoughts. Before, he could have been monitoring everything that was going on while thinking of something else without having to make a conscious effort to follow the conversation. And now he can’t.

“Dude, I swear, you look miserable,” Stiles says as he drops down on the porch steps next to him. “And you smell miserable. That’s so weird. Emotions shouldn’t have scents.”

Derek growls, low in his throat, out of habit. The power of the wolf’s anger isn’t there though, and Stiles doesn’t recoil like he usually would have, just gives him a look that Derek can’t quite read.

Stiles sighs, looking away. Derek thinks he must have heard something, must be distracted again. When Stiles speaks again, he sounds frustrated.

“I wish it was easier to ignore all this stuff around. It’s not my fault werewolfness doesn’t seem to cure ADD. Plus, I’ve spent the whole afternoon yesterday trying restoring spells with Deaton, and magic always leaves me... Well, it’s hard to focus. Plus, I keep wanting to either hug everyone in the pack or toss them around. It’s weird. How come you never hug anyone?”

Stiles’s eyes are suddenly back on Derek’s face, inquisitive. Derek shrugs, looking away. 

“Not all werewolves are touchy-feely,” he grumbles. “To me, the protective aspect of being an Alpha was more about keeping everyone alive and able to defend themselves than wanting to wrap my arms around them.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Stiles says after a pause. “Does that mean I’m a weaker Alpha though, that I need to feel them around me to know they’re safe?”

“Not weaker, just different.”

Derek’s head jerks up. Peter is standing a couple of feet away, and Derek had no idea he’d creeped up to them. 

“And you should try doing magic at night, when the moon is up,” Peter continues, climbing up the stairs and slipping between Derek and Stiles. “You can draw energy from the moon now. One of the perks of being both a werewolf and a witch.”

Peter’s eyes grow cold and he leaves them there, walking into the house and shutting the door behind him.

“How would he know that?” Stiles breathes out, more to himself than to Derek.

“His wife,” Derek replies anyway. “She had the spark too. A witch and a werewolf, like you.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” Stiles says, quietly, then he frowns, looking somewhat suspicious. “How long has he known about me? Could he have smelled or felt the magic on me or something?”

“Why?” 

“Well, it would make the whole thing about him offering me the bite even more creepy,” he says, shuddering.

“He did _what_?” Derek barks, feeling anger boiling deep in his chest. 

Stiles blinks, like he’s surprised by Derek’s reaction.

“He never told you?” he asks, then rolls his eyes. “Of course he never told you, why would he? That was back when he was the Alpha, obviously. You’d been captured by Kate Argent and he made me help him find you. He offered me the bite as a “reward”.” He does the air-quotes with his fingers.

Derek grits his teeth. Peter is devious and secretive. He should have expected something like this. He shouldn’t be this surprised, shouldn’t feel this angry at his uncle.

“You said no,” Derek growls. 

Stiles said no and yet Peter had still been pushing him a few days ago to make Stiles a werewolf, to bring him into the pack.

“I saw how he treated Scott,” Stiles replies darkly. “How he tried to turn him into a killer. He had just attacked Lydia, and for no reason, or so I thought. Why would I want to be under his power?” Stiles pauses, glaring at the door behind which Peter disappeared. “What I still don’t understand is why he didn’t bite me anyway.”

“Learned from his mistake, probably,” Derek says, looking at Scott.

The kid’s sitting against a tree, talking with Isaac, and once again the frustration of not being able to hear them swells in Derek.

“Damn, you really _are_ a pit of anger and despair, aren’t you?” Stiles says, leaning towards him.

Derek can hear there’s no true malice in Stiles’s words, but still, it stings.

“Why don’t you go give Peter a hug?” he snaps.

“Don’t joke about this,” Stiles growls, eyes glowing red for a moment before he reins himself back. “It’s weird, to feel both protective and suspicious of someone.”

“I know,” Derek replies, his eyes falling back on Scott.

Later, Stiles makes him drive them back to their houses. Scott and him had come on foot, but Stiles was feeling lazy, or maybe he was afraid he’d get too distracted by something while running through the forest and wouldn’t make it home, who knows. But he gives the order to Derek as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s irritating, and suddenly Derek understands a little bit better why the humans and former humans disliked it so much when he did it to them. To a werewolf, taking order from an Alpha is the most natural thing in the world. To a human, apparently, obeying is still a strong compulsion, but there’s no instinct to submit to the Alpha’s authority, which makes it...grating.

Stiles claims the passenger seat and Scott reluctantly climbs in the back of the car. Derek looks at him in the rearview mirror, but Scott stubbornly turns his face away, like a pouting teenager. Which he is, Derek reminds himself as he starts the car. Scott has been tolerating him for the last few days, for Stiles’s sake, but he barely talks to him, or to Peter for that matter.

Derek wishes there was something he could do, anything, to bridge that chasm between them. Not only for when he becomes an Alpha again ( _if_ he becomes an Alpha again, his subconscious kindly reminds him), but because he had truly meant it, all these months ago, when he’d told Scott they were brothers now. Even though Scott had been infuriating and never listened to him, Derek had needed someone to bond to after Laura’s death, and he cared about Scott.

That flimsy, one-sided bond is why he started caring about Stiles, too, in a way. Derek’s eyes slide over the young Alpha next to him before settling back on the road. Stiles is drumming his fingers on his knee, looking through the window at the thinning trees as they get closer to the town. Damn Stiles, ever getting in the middle of things to try and protect his friends, protect everyone. No wonder the pack has no difficulties accepting him as their Alpha. 

“You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear you,” Stiles says.

Derek huffs, but there’s no heat in it. He takes a turn to the left and they’re now passing a few buildings and a slightly crooked sign that reads “Welcome to Beacon Hills”. 

“What’s on your mind, dude? Your scent keeps jumping from angry to miserable back and forth. It’s annoying.”

“It’s rude to mention other people’s emotional scent,” Derek growls out, hiding his surprise behind irritation. 

He wasn’t expecting Stiles to be so attuned to his scent. Unless he’s making a conscious effort to keep an eye -or rather his nose- on Derek’s emotions. Yes, that makes more sense. Stiles must be still a bit wary of him. Derek can’t blame him, he would too in his place.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t broadcast your bad mood quite so strongly,” Stiles snarls back. “Sorry, no one took the time to teach me werewolf etiquette.”

“I know,” Derek replies. “That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“Sure,” Stiles snorts. “Nothing to do with avoiding answering the question.” He already sounds more amused than angry.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek says without blinking.

Stiles laughs at that and the tension in the car eases up a little. Derek can see him from the corner of his eye, shaking his head with a grin.

“Have it your way,” he says, dismissively. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Derek sighs, almost dramatically. 

And he’s afraid Stiles might be right. A lifetime of obeying an Alpha has left him more reluctant to stand up to Stiles. Though if he’s perfectly honest, even before the transfer Stiles has had a knack for annoying him long enough to get him to answer his questions, at least partially.

He drops Stiles off first, because his house is the closest. It leaves him alone with Scott, who takes the passenger seat even though it means sitting next to Derek, because the backseat really doesn’t have much leg room at all. The tension in the car is almost palpable, and it’s grating on Derek’s nerves.

“What the hell is your problem with me?” he snaps eventually, taking a sharp turn, and the tires of the Camaro screech in protest.

“What’s my problem with you?” Scott snaps back. “Oh, gee Derek, I don’t know! Maybe the fact that your thirst for power prevented me from getting cured, which not only screwed up my life and my relationship with Allison but also put my mom in danger, and now Stiles is struggling with werewolf powers, and there’s a whole pack of Alphas after us, and it’s all your fault!”

Derek steps on the brakes, stopping the car in front of Scott’s house, and turns to face the angry teenager.

“You think I don’t know that?” he growls back, doing his best not to shout and attract unwanted attention. “You think I don’t feel responsible for all the things that have happened to you, and to the people around you? Even though I’m not the one who bit you, I’m not the one who dragged you into all this! I did what I had to do. I’m pretty sure killing Peter wouldn’t have cured you, Scott; it’s an old myth, I told you so. And I couldn’t take the risk of having you be an Alpha!”

“Why, because I’m so untrustworthy I would have made an even worse one than you?”

“No, because you wouldn’t have had me!” Derek exclaims, unable to prevent himself from shouting this time. 

Scott is watching him with surprise and confusion painted all over his face. When Derek speaks again it’s lower, almost softer.

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me as pack. I would have been an Omega, and I...I couldn’t. You don’t understand, because you haven’t had a pack your whole life. I don’t _know_ how to function without one. Every time Laura left me alone for too long, it was a nightmare for me. I never wanted to be an Alpha, but it was the only way I could think of to get a new pack.”

There’s a stunned silence in the car after that. It’s awkward and complicated, and Derek isn’t sure if he wants Scott to say something ( _anything_ ), or if he’d rather have the kid not say a word. He chances a glance in Scott’s direction. Scott is staring at him with a frown, like he’s trying to figure something out. Derek wonders what’s left to figure out after all that he suddenly blurted out.

“Stiles told me the protective instinct of an Alpha is very strong,” Scott finally says, slowly, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t have wanted... wouldn’t have _needed_ a pack?”

“You already had one. You already had people to protect, people to support you, and you wouldn’t have known that it’s not quite enough.”

Scott stares at him a little bit longer before sighing.

“I guess we’ll never know,” he declares. “Good night, Derek.”

Derek watches Scott get out of the car and start walking to his house, trying to keep a lid on the conflicted emotions swirling in him. Human emotions are so messy, he thinks. They’re just as strong as when he was a werewolf, but it’s so much harder to just grab onto one and hold on to it to push the rest to the back of his mind.

Scott has almost reached his front door when Derek sees him suddenly drop to his knees and grab his head. Derek is already half out of the car and running towards him before he sees them. There are two women walking towards Scott, chanting slowly. The one in the front looks completely human, and she’s carrying a bowl of burning incense. The one in the back is partially wolf-ed out, her eyes glowing red as she stays clear of the incense smoke.

They turn their heads in Derek’s direction, and the Alpha smirks, showing sharp, white fangs. She leaps forward, placing Scott and the other woman behind her and Derek in front of her. Then she cocks her head to the side.

It’s difficult to read a werewolf’s face when they’re wolfed-out, especially since Derek has always been able to rely on his sense of smell to do just that and now he can’t anymore, but he’s pretty sure she looks surprised. Startled, even. Derek clenches his fist, blunt nails digging in his palm. He knows how powerless he is now against any werewolf at all, and even more against this one. But the other woman, the human one, is just two feet away from Scott. She’s raising a hand.

“Scott, to your left!” he shouts, and he barely has time to see Scott smack his hand against the bowl of incense with a pained grunt before he can feel the Alpha’s claws slash open his chest and arm.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles is toeing off his shoes and kicking them under his desk when he feels it. It’s like a punch to the chest or a hand squeezing around his lungs. There’s the feeling of panic and pain, and it takes him a moment to realise they’re not his. They’re Scott’s. He’s not sure how he knows this but he just _knows_. Scott’s in danger.

He’ll take the time to wonder when exactly Scott became pack later –though he has a feeling Scott has _always_ been pack, from the second Stiles became a werewolf. Right now, all that matters is to get to him, and fast. Stiles’s window is open, and jumping through it is quicker than racing down the stairs and out through the door.

He lands on his hands and feet and starts running, not caring about the twigs and gravel digging in his skin, or about how hard and dirty the pavement is. His arms are longer and his legs twisted in an inhuman shape, which makes running on all fours so much faster than anything he could have imagined, and he doesn’t care if someone sees him, doesn’t even think about the possibility. All he knows is that Scott needs him.

His heart sinks when he smells the scent of Derek and blood and fear, and an angry howl tears its way out of his throat as he turns the corner of Scott’s street. He’s pretty far away, but he can see it clearly. Derek is sprawled out flat on his back, holding his arm. Scott is kneeling on the ground, batting an arm in the direction of a woman, but mostly swatting at air. The werewolf (the _Alpha_ , all of his senses scream at him), is turning away from Derek, probably judging him harmless now, and she’s about to lunge at Scott when she notices him and turns her red eyes towards Stiles.

Stiles is still charging, growling, a blinding rage taking over him. All he can see is the other Alpha, his target, his enemy. She attacked his pack. He doesn’t anticipate the human woman to step between them as he closes in and to throw a fistful of wolfsbane-laced mountain ash at him. Stiles yelps as it lands on him, burning, pushing him away. 

But Derek is still on the ground, not moving, and Scott is kneeling a few feet away, and something wild and dangerous in Stiles is roaring in rage, so Stiles just pushes through, calling on energy from the ground under his bare hands and feet and from the moon rising in the sky, and it’s like the magical dust just turns to nothingness as he slams into the other Alpha, sending her rolling ten feet away.

Stiles turns towards the witch, who’s staring at him, and growls as he crouches between her and Derek. Behind her, Scott is getting to his feet and growling too.

“This explains so much,” the witch says, not taking her eyes off Stiles.

“Let her go,” the Alpha growls from where she’s getting back to her feet.

“Why should I?” Stiles snarls, his eyes glancing in her direction.

“Because if you touch her, I swear I’ll kill the human before any of you can do anything about it.”

Behind Stiles, Derek makes a small noise. Stiles can smell his fear underneath the blood, and it makes his throat tighten. His instincts are telling him to protect Derek, to kill the threat, kill the other Alpha who hurt him, and hurt Scott too. But he knows he’s not fast enough, and he can feel how weak Scott actually still is. He can’t take that risk.

“This isn’t over,” he barks, and the witch smiles before running to her Alpha.

“No, it isn’t,” the Alpha says, her red eyes pinned on Stiles. “But next time, we’ll be expecting you.”

Stiles watches them go. He doesn’t move until their scents start to dissipate, and then he’s kneeling next to Derek, pushing his hands away to look at his wounds.

“We should take him inside,” Scott says, voice shaking a little. 

Stiles can smell the magic on him still. It’s slowly wearing off, but it explains why Scott’s hands tremble a little as he helps Stiles lift Derek up. Derek grunts, biting his lip in what is probably an effort not to cry out. The street is still miraculously empty and no one seems to have called the police yet, but they definitely need to move before their luck changes.

Stiles takes most of Derek’s weight and starts walking towards Scott’s house. Derek is leaning heavily on him, and if anyone sees them they’ll wonder how Stiles isn’t collapsing under Derek. They really need to get inside.

Scott unlocks the door and leads them in, then he bolts back outside, mumbling about needing to grab something, as Stiles helps Derek sit down on the living room sofa and starts pulling the ruins of Derek’s leather jacket off. Derek hisses in pain, and Stiles mumbles “sorry, sorry” as he gets Derek’s arm out of it.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Scott tells him, dropping a wooden bowl on the floor before running up the stairs. “Should I call my mom?”

“No!” Derek hisses as the same time as Stiles says “Yes!”

Stiles growls at Derek.

“You’re hurt, and you’re human so you need your wounds to be properly taken care of,” he barks at Derek. “Besides, Mrs McCall knows about us. She’s safe. She’s pack, like Scott. Like you.”

Derek stares at him, like he can’t believe what’s coming out of Stiles’s mouth. It’s a familiar look at least, and it helps Stiles’s pulse settle down a little. If Derek can still get frustrated with him, then the world probably isn’t about to end.

Though if Stiles is completely honest with himself, he too is a little bit surprised by his own words. But they’re true. Derek is pack. He guesses if Allison and him could be Scott’s pack, then human pack members are a thing, so it’s not that weird, right? Plus, Stiles’s wolf is actually Derek’s wolf, so that might explain why he feels so possessively protective of him. Of course Derek is pack.

Scott is already on the phone with his mom as he comes back and tosses the first-aid kit to Stiles, who catches it easily. Werewolf reflexes really are awesome.

“Did she bite you?” Stiles asks while helping Derek take his leather jacket off. The thing is ruined, and so is Derek’s shirt underneath, torn up and bloodied.

“Don’t think so,” Derek winces. 

He flinches under Stiles’s hands, hissing through his teeth when Stiles carefully lifts the shirt out of the way. It’s weird, to see him half-naked on the couch. It’s not the first time he’s seen Derek shirtless –that time with Danny was memorable– but there’s usually some sort of threatening aggression going with Derek’s bare skin that makes it more scary than hot. 

But right now Stiles doesn’t find Derek scary or ridiculously attractive or frustratingly annoying. Right now, Derek looks hurt and vulnerable, and it makes Stiles feel like something is stuck in the back of his throat.

“She says to clean up the wounds with antiseptic and check that nothing is bleeding excessively,” Scott relays even though Stiles can hear his best friend’s mother through the phone. “And that the cuts aren’t too deep. She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“What does ‘not too deep’ even mean?” Stiles growls as he pours antiseptic on a clean cotton cloth. “Sorry, Derek, that’s gonna hurt.”

“Just do it,” Derek grunts through gritted teeth. 

“Can’t be worse than a wolfsbane bullet, hey?” Stiles tries to joke as he cleans the claw marks on Derek’s belly. Derek just grips the armrest tighter.

Stiles has to take a new cloth when he’s finished with the wounds on Derek’s stomach, but they’re not bleeding too badly and he lets Scott press some pads against them. No use trying to put on bandages that his mom would only make them take off when she arrives.

Derek’s arm caught the blunt force of the attack. The cuts are deep, about half an inch at least, and it’s lucky Derek has so much arm muscle to protect his veins and bones. Two of the deepest wounds keep oozing more blood than the others, no matter how much pressure Stiles puts on them, and Stiles makes a sad whimpering noise. 

Derek puts his hand on top of Stiles’s, and Stiles looks up. The pain is obvious on Derek’s face, but he’s clearly pushing through it to try and look reassuring.

“I’m not dying, Stiles, I’m fine,” he tells him, slowly, like the way you speak to a wounded animal. Which is rich, given that Derek’s the wounded one here.

Stiles nods, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He’s seen worse, he’s seen _Lydia_. Derek’s wounds are nothing compared to what Peter did to her. Still, it makes Stiles’s stomach clench. He wants to hold on to Derek, to make sure he’s there and alive and not going anywhere. It’s the wolf in him, that foreign entity that’s a part of Derek, that makes Stiles bury his face in the crook of Derek’s neck and take in his scent where it’s not tinged by blood.

It calms him, and when he straightens up he can feel a blush tint his cheeks, but he manfully ignores it in favor of taking a new look at Derek’s arm. There’s no change, so they keep putting pressure on the wounds until Scott’s mom arrives.

Stiles is reluctant to step back and let her treat Derek, but he forces himself away. She doesn’t ask questions as she injects a small amount of anesthetic into Derek’s arm and carefully stitches up the worst of his wounds.

“Is he going to get into more trouble?” she finally asks when she’s finishing bandaging Derek’s abdomen. Then she digs through her purse and hands Derek a small bottle of pills to take for the next few days, for the pain.

“The danger’s passed for now,” Stiles says, feeling his shoulders slouch. “Thanks, really. For taking care of us.”

“That’s what family’s for, Stiles,” she tells him, squeezing his arm. “I’m sure you have important things to talk about, so I’ll be putting these back in place.” She holds up the emergency kit and, with a small smile, heads up the stairs.

Stiles sits down on the couch next to Derek and Scott drops down on his other side. Now that he knows Derek’s gonna be fine, Stiles takes a moment to be glad that Scott too is okay. He hugs his best friend, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dirt and magic still faintly clinging to him.

“Dude, you need a shower.”

“Says the guy covered in blood,” Scott snorts, before his face gets serious again. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

“I guess it’s an Alpha thing, like when Mrs Argent tried to kill you and Derek could feel you were in danger?” 

Stiles looks at Derek, who nods slowly. He seems incredibly tired, and once again Stiles cringes at how vulnerable Derek is right now.

“Like you said, Scott is your pack. The bond that makes you stronger also gives you responsibilities.”

“Yeah, but why couldn’t I feel that _you_ were hurt?”

“I’m human, Stiles,” Derek snaps, then he takes a deep breath and continues more calmly. “Humans, even pack members, can’t form the same bounds to an Alpha that wolves do. You can’t borrow their strength, and they can’t call for you if we need help. They can’t feel the presence of the pack the way werewolves do. It’s dreadful and lonely.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand, but Derek’s face closes off anyway. The silence that follows is so awkward that Stiles feels obligated to break it. He’s never been good with silence anyway.

“So, what do you think they wanted with Scott? Did they say anything?”

“No, but they seemed surprised to see you. They should have known, though, that my Alpha would show up, right?”

“Maybe they thought you were an Omega?” Stiles suggests.

“If they’ve been watching him, they knew he spent the last few days with the pack,” Derek cuts in. “And they knew who I was and weren’t surprised that I was human.”

Stiles hums, trying to make sense of it. 

“If they knew about Derek but not about me, then transferring Derek’s wolf to me hadn’t been their goal, but an accident. Maybe they’re just trying to unwolf the whole pack?”

“Is that even possible?” Scott frowns, and there’s a hint of hope in his voice.

“Not that I know of, but you should ask Deaton,” Derek grunts, crossing his arms defensively and wincing. The stitches must remind him of his wounds, Stiles figures.

Stiles grabs the wooden bowl that Scott had brought back inside. He wonders if he could identify what herbs had been used in it, and maybe deduce what the witch had intended to do, but most of its contents was probably scattered outside on the road. The little amount of grey dust clinging to the wood wouldn’t get him far.

“This looks familiar,” he frowns, suddenly.

The shape of the bowl, the smoothness of the polished wood, even the shade of dark brown... Stiles had seen a similar one. Stiles had _used_ a similar one. Deaton’s.

Stiles takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. The greeting bell jingles, and the girl behind the counter looks up. She smiles briefly at them before going back to her customer.

Stiles looks around the shop, nervously. The _Magick Willow_ isn’t quite as small as it looks from the outside; it’s all in length. There are rows of jars on the shelves, full of herbs and powders. On the other side, crystal bowls and actual _wands_ share the shelves with books about love spells and well-being.

This place is mostly amateur stuff that holds no power, Deaton had said. Run by old-fashioned hippies and day-dreamers. But they do sell supplies that can be useful, rare herbs and gems, the occasional antique item that still holds some power. That’s why Deaton often comes here.

But not today. Today, they’re here incognito. And by ‘they’, he means him and Derek. Who is, technically, kind of still a person of interest in a few murder cases, even though Chris Argent had finally been helping out steering the police investigation in another direction. 

Still, Stiles is pretty sure that if his father found out about him hanging out with Derek Hale in a magic shop, heads would roll. Though, granted, his dad wasn’t the biggest threat they were facing. 

Stiles shakes his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. They walk up to the counter as the customer, a woman in her mid-thirties who smells of cats and marijuana, gathers her purchases and leaves. Derek is still moving a little bit awkwardly, keeping his injured arm as unmoving along his side as he can.

“Good afternoon,” the salesgirl smiles, her eyes darting towards Derek as she twirls a lock of hair around her fingers like a teenager. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” says Derek, leaning over the counter on his good side. “We’re not really sure what we’re looking for. I have to say, we’re kind of new to all this. Maybe you could point us towards a few books? Basic stuff?”

Derek’s turned on his killer smile, the one he used in the Police station that one time, and the girl’s just melting as she babbles on about fate and the interconnection of all things. Her voice is irritating, and Stiles grits his teeth, resisting the urge to dramatically roll his eyes at her.

She steps around the counter to lead them to the books near the front window and Derek follows her without a second thought. Stiles isn’t sure what his point is, they don’t need books about the power of positive thoughts or the secret meaning of gems, and they certainly don’t need crystals to ‘cleanse their auras’. And why is she looking at Stiles when she says that, anyway? 

What they need is to find out who bought that damn bowl. Deaton confirmed it was the same as the one he used, and he told them this was the only place in the area selling that model as far as he knew. Something about a small, artisanally made series. Because apparently, hand-making bowls in rare wood essences was a thing.

“Is it true that magic works better when there are several people involved?” Derek asks smoothly, putting his hand on a crystal ball inches away from the girl’s hand. Sage, her nametag says, and what a stupid name.

“Oh you mean like a Coven? Yes, it’s true. If you want, I could introduce you to mine,” she replies, stepping closer, her fingertips dancing on the crystal ball, so close to Derek’s. 

Stiles feels his fingers turn into claws, because dude, so not on. He flexes his hands, trying to rein in the wolf feeling possessive of Derek.

“There’s a witch coven in Beacon Hills?” Derek asks, feigning surprise, but still smiling at her, and Stiles isn’t sure why he’s finding Derek’s blatant flirting so damn irritating. 

It doesn’t matter though. What matters is the way the girl is laughing, baring her throat, all white skin begging to be torn apart.

“You make it sound like we brew potions and dance around naked in the moonlight! I can assure you, I prefer to keep my naked dancing a private thing, if you know what I mean.”

Stiles is pretty sure his face is showing how angry he’s currently feeling, even if he’s keeping his elongated teeth well hidden behind tightly closed lips. The girl isn’t looking at him though. Stiles’s ears are buzzing, and he doesn’t catch what Derek says next, or the girl’s reply. All he can hear is the rush of his own blood in his veins as his pulse picks up speed. All he can see is the hand she casually brushes against Derek’s arm as she reaches for something on a shelf, all he can smell is the faint scent of her arousal.

 _Her_ arousal. Not his. Stiles’s eyes are showing him a flirting Derek, smiling and leaning in, but when Stiles closes them, his other senses tell another story. Derek’s scent is, if anything, more neutral than it usually is, almost toned down. His heartbeat is slow and steady. 

This is a trick. Derek is playing a role, trying to get information from the girl. He’s not interested. She’s nothing, she won’t be able to take Derek away from Stiles, away from his pack. Stiles takes a deep breath, and when he opens his eyes again it’s like someone took off the red veil of anger from his eyes. He digs human fingernails in his palm just to make sure he got himself back under control, and exhales shakily.

“Sure, I’ll be just a sec!” the girl is saying.

Stiles realizes he missed most of the conversation and has no idea what the hell just happened. The girl, _Sage_ he reminds himself, runs back to the counter and disappears behind a door, and Derek aims a smug little smile at Stiles. He must see something on Stiles’s face, because his expression turns into a worried frown.

“Are you alright?” he asks, low enough that Sage can’t hear him from the back of the shop –where she’s typing away on a computer, Stiles’s hearing tells him.

Stiles nods, because yeah, he is now, but judging by the way Derek’s frown increases and how he takes a few steps closer to Stiles, it can’t have been very convincing.

“I’ll explain after,” Stiles sighs, because he can hear Sage’s footsteps behind him.

And sure enough, the girl is back with a piece of paper. She hands him to Derek with a smile.

“I’ve added my phone number on the back,” she tells him, leaning forward. “Give me a call.”

Stiles swallows back the growl rising in his throat as Derek just smiles and pockets the piece of paper. They buy a couple of books and a moonstone amulet before leaving, and Stiles lets out a big breath of relief once they’re outside.

“So, what happened in there,” Derek asks him as they walk back towards the car.

He hands Stiles the piece of paper with the credit card info of the man who purchased the wooden bowl. They’ll probably have to convince Danny to run a trace on it.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles replies, shifting his eyes away from Derek. “Just your stupid wolf being possessive.”

There’s a silence, and when Stiles glances back at Derek, the former werewolf has a quizzical frown on. Stiles sighs.

“Apparently it didn’t like seeing that girl flirt with you.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He stares at Stiles with an expression Stiles has never seen on his face before.

“What?” Stiles asks, defensively. “I managed to get it under control though, so nothing to worry about, I swear!”

“Stiles, the wolf…” Derek avert his eyes, and Stiles could swear he looks embarrassed. “It’s not... It just heightens your instincts and reflexes, connects you to the world in a slightly mystical way that’s a bit hard to understand, but... I know I said you had _my_ wolf in you, a part of me, of who I was. But the wolf doesn’t have a will of its own. It can’t feel possessive of me.”

Derek looks back at him then, and it’s half curious and half amazed. Stiles doesn’t know what to say, and it’s not often he’s at a loss for words. They’ve stopped walking, they’re just standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other. Derek’s scent is filling Stiles’s nose, his heart beats slightly faster in Stiles’s ears.

The silence stretches, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with it, what to do with the sudden realization that he wants Derek.

“I think I might need some time to adjust to that,” he says eventually, his mouth dry.

“Okay,” Derek breathes out. “We can… We can talk about it later, if you want.”

“See if it might lead anywhere?” Stiles asks, nervously biting his lower lip.

He watches Derek swallow, nod. There’s the shadow or a smile on his lips.

“Okay,” Stiles says, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Okay. When we’ve sorted his Alpha situation.

They walk back to Derek’s Camaro in silence, but the back of Derek’s hand keeps brushing against Stiles’s.

The way Jackson keeps staring at him is irritating. Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look more massive and threatening. Jackson mirrors his position. It looks stubborn and defensive.

“Ease up, Derek,” Stiles tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Derek leans into the touch, craving a connection he can no longer feel. Physical contact could never replace a pack bond, and he feels fleetingly sad for Jackson that his former kanima nature will always prevent him from forming such a bond.

Still, physical contact is better than nothing, and Stiles’s touch calms him down. Jackson isn’t a threat; he’s here to help, even though he keeps glaring at everyone. Derek unfolds his arms and shoves his hands in his pockets.

Stiles moves to where Lydia and Deaton are bent over a map. Ultimately, the girl’s help will probably mean more that Jackson’s. Plus, she’d convinced Allison to join them, which also meant they got Chris Argent’s support. The other hunters won’t help, they barely tolerate Derek’s pack –Stiles’s pack– and the Alphas haven’t attacked any human yet.

There’s a hushed conversation over the map, and Stiles calls the Argents to have a look at something. Derek misses his heightened senses, unable to hear what they’re saying, but he trusts Stiles to share any important modification to the plan.

He trusts Stiles. Scott trusts Stiles. The Argents are listening to Stiles. Jackson strongly dislikes Stiles but seems to trust him too. They’re all coming together around him, almost naturally, like he was always meant to be an Alpha. There’s something about him now that speaks of confidence and capability, some natural authority that was always there but hidden under a pile of insecurities.

As he watches the teenager, Derek can’t help but think about the fact that Stiles is attracted to him, feels _possessive_ of him. If he’s honest with himself, Derek has to admit that he actually likes Stiles. He liked him even when he was just a human brat getting in his way. He liked his guts and his loyalty to his friends, and the way he tried to do the right thing. He’s not sure if a relationship between them would work, they’re so different, but he wouldn’t mind trying. Because if it works, they could be phenomenal.

“I told you he’d make a good werewolf,” Peter says quietly behind him. “I just didn’t think he’d make such a great Alpha.”

Derek groans. “It’s not difficult to make a better Alpha than you,” he says. “Or me, I’ll admit it.”

“You were never meant to be an Alpha, Derek. You did your best, but you were always better at following orders than giving them. Always craving someone competent to rely on, to the point that you even followed _me_.”

“Worst mistake of my life, and that’s saying a lot,” Derek replies, turning to glare at his uncle.

“I’ll admit it, I was a little bit _unhinged_ back then,” Peter concedes with a smile.

“A little?” Derek raises an eyebrow.

Peter shrugs. “Are you sure you want to go back to being the almighty Alpha of Beacon Hills?”

Derek doesn’t reply, won’t give Peter that satisfaction. Because if he’s honest with himself, the answer is no. He never wanted to be Alpha, but he took that responsibility, he made Betas, tried to build up a pack. It was his choice. Stiles, on the other hand, didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t ask to be a werewolf, he certainly didn’t ask to be an Alpha and have a responsibility over them all. And just because he’s so good at it doesn’t give Derek the right to ask him to keep that role.

And on top of that, Derek can’t stand being human. He can’t stand how weak and fragile he feels, almost useless, even with one of Chris Argent’s guns strapped to his hip. He can’t stand the constant loneliness even when the pack is surrounding him. He can’t stand the void in his chest were his instincts and primal desires used to boil up, to almost talk to him, whispering about wilderness and freedom.

“We need to do this,” Derek finally breathes out, more to himself than to Peter.

“Everyone remembers what they have to do?” Stiles asks while Deaton is rolling up the map. “Then it’s time. Let’s go kick some Alpha ass.”

Stiles feels nervous. He fidgets with the moonstone pendent around his neck as he walks out of the Jeep. They parked far enough from the motel for the Alphas not to hear the cars. The plan is good. It’ll work. It _has_ to work. But it still doesn’t mean it’ll end well.

“I wish I could go with you,” he tells Deaton and Lydia again.

“And broadcast your presence to the other Alphas? Yeah right! They know your scent,” Lydia reminds him. “You’ll never get close enough.”

“Still, you’re putting yourself in danger for us.”

Lydia glares at him, and Stiles almost flinches. He might be an Alpha, but Lydia is still as terrifying as ever.

“They came after Scott. They’ll come after Jackson too. I’m not losing him again; I’m not losing any of you. So you better make sure you protect your pack, you hear me?”

She stabs a finger at him, and Stiles nods frenetically.

“I’ll call you when it’s done,” Deaton tells him. “You’ll have to move quickly, the two of us won’t be able to hold the barriers up long without your help.”

“I know,” Stiles replies, swallowing hard.

He watches the pair disappear into the night. Scott walks up to him and bumps their shoulders together. Stiles can feel his support through the pack bond. He can feel Isaac’s support too, and even Peter’s. He wishes he could feel Derek too.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and Stiles pulls it out to read the text message.

“Allison and her dad are in place,” he tells the others. “They can see Deaton and Lydia starting to pour the mountain ash.”

“If anything happens to her, Stilinski, I’m holding you responsible,” Jackson growls from where he’s leaning against his Porsche.

“You and me both,” Stiles replies, turning his head in the direction of the motel.

As they wait, Stiles resists the urge to pace between the cars. Instead, he walks slowly among his wolves. Stiles squeezes Isaac’s shoulder, then gives Scott one of their goofy hugs. He puts a hand on Peter’s arm, feeling their bond grow a little bit firmer. Peter is still creepy, but he’s here, with them. He’s pack. When he reaches Jackson, he hesitates. Jackson huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever,” he says, holding his hand out.

Stiles shakes it, briefly and slightly awkwardly. Jackson smells like a wolf, and Stiles is trying to connect with him the same way he’s connected to the other wolves, but it doesn’t work. It’s frustrating. Still, Jackson’s acceptance of him means a lot. Stiles nods at him, then moves on.

Derek is standing just there. He looks nervous and brooding and ready for the waiting to be over. And Stiles understands. Derek has lived his whole life with these bonds, with being able to feel someone else’s presence with him always. The loneliness of humanity must be a nightmare for him. It’ll be hard enough on Stiles when things get back to normal. _If_ things get back to normal.

Stiles is too nervous to fight his instincts, to fight his wolf. He walks right into Derek’s space, puts a hand on Derek’s neck as their faces are barely a couple of inches apart. Derek leans into the touch, his skin warm under Stiles’s fingers.

“We’ll make this right, one way or another,” Stiles promises.

They stare at each other, and Stiles gets distracted by the green flecks in Derek’s eyes, by the smell of leather and the scent of Derek. It’s hard to ignore it, now that he’s admitted his own feelings to himself. It’s hard to ignore the way he wants to close the distance between them and brush his lips against Derek’s. He even thinks Derek might let him, that he might open his mouth and kiss him back, and Stiles doesn’t care that the pack is _right there_ , probably watching them, he’s going to do it, he’s going to–

He feels the barrier snap shut, so powerful the magic ripples on his skin.

“They did it,” Stiles breathes out, turning his head back in the direction of the motel.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket and Stiles takes it out while motioning to the pack to move. They run, werewolf-fast, except for Derek who jumps into the Camaro. He would have fallen behind if he’d followed them on foot.

“I know,” Stiles says before Deaton can speak. “I felt it. I had no idea it would be so powerful.”

“It seems we underestimated Miss Martin’s abilities,” Deaton agrees. “But I’m not sure even that’s going to be enough if you don’t get here fast.”

“Almost there,” Stiles replies, then flicks the phone shut as he takes a left turn and spots the small motel the Alphas have taken residency in.

There’s a ring of mountain ash circling it, as well as candles evenly spaced along the barrier. Lydia is kneeling about five feet outside of the circle, eyes closed in concentration as she keeps up the barrier that will suppress any attempts at magic inside it.

Jackson goes to crouch defensively in front of her as four Alphas growl at her, trapped inside. Stiles lets the change wash over him, muscles and bones shifting, teeth elongating and nails turning into claws.

He recognizes the scent of the Alpha who attacked Scott and Derek, and he snarls at her, anger growing inside him. There are three other wolves, pacing and growling along the line of mountain ash. Stiles can feel them trying to will their way out of the barrier, and he takes a deep breath, concentrates on keeping it sealed.

“You think you can hold us in forever?” one of the Alphas asks, baring his teeth at Stiles.

“Forever? No,” Stiles replies as the Camaro comes to a halt behind him. “But long enough for our hunter friends to pick you off one by one.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” the female Alpha snickers. “‘Hunter friends’, really. Kid, you’re in over your head and your little trick here is impressive, but useless.”

Stiles resists the urge to turn his head and look at Derek, who’s walking up to him. Instead, he raises his hand and makes the signal Chris Argent taught him. A bullet ricochets off the ground, barely a foot from one of the Alphas. The smell of wolfsbane is strong and heady in Stiles’s nose, and someone lets out a small cry of surprise.

“Ah, so your human witch is there too,” Stiles says. “Good. I’m guessing you’re going to need her.”

Stiles feels the barrier start to waver at the same time he hears Lydia’s sharp in-breath. He switches his main focus from the Alphas to the spell, drawing energy from the earth under his feet, from the moon high in the sky and the pendent around his neck. The barrier stands.

“What are you waiting for, then, kid?” one of the Alphas asks, his eyes sweeping between the mostly empty buildings around them.

“I’m waiting for you to reverse it. Whatever spell you worked, do it again, and give this pack its rightful Alpha back.”

“Sorry kid, not possible,” he says. 

He doesn’t look particularly sorry. Stiles growls, his anger feeding the spells Lydia and Deaton worked.

“The spell requires a witch as a target,” the human witch says, walking out of the room she’d been hiding in. She’s raising her hands up, as if to say that she’s not arm and thus harmless. As if magic always required hands. “And even then, there’s no way to predict who the werewolf nature is going to attach itself to, as it turns out.”

“Rachel!” the female Alpha snaps at her.

“Sorry, but this is kind of a mess, sis’. You _know_ this isn’t what I signed up for. You promised no harm would come to anyone, and yet you already hurt him,” she points at Derek, who’s standing just behind Stiles’s left shoulder, “and now there’s this, and they have guns, Danielle!”

“They told you no one would be hurt?” Stiles repeats, surprised, and his anger recedes slightly. “So this was a way for you to become an Alpha without having to kill anyone? But _why_? And why did you attack Scott?”

“I’m sick,” Rachel says bitterly. “The wolf would save me, but not before the bite would kill me. We thought the first spell had failed completely–”

“Shut up,” one of the Alphas cuts in with a snarl at her.

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t, Stan?”

“I’ll rip your face off is what I’ll do!” Stan replies, taking a step in her direction.

“No you won’t,” Danielle growls back, moving between them. “You touch my sister and I’ll turn you into a rug.”

Stan growls some more, but takes a step back. So even a pack made of Alphas has a hierarchy, it would seem, or maybe Danielle is just the most badass of the pack.

“Rachel,” Stiles starts before the tense silence that follows stretches for too long. “I don’t especially _want_ this to end in a blood bath either, so please go on.”

“Right,” she nods, looking a bit pale. “So we thought the spell had failed because it wasn’t designed to be worked on an Alpha in the first place. And, well, we figured being a Beta would still be better than being dead, and we knew Scott McCall was the least happy to be a werewolf, so...”

“How did you know that?” Stiles frowns.

“Your little friends told us,” one of the other Alphas smirks.

“Erica and Boyd?” Derek asks, an aggressive bark that hides most of the worry in his voice. “What have you done with them?”

“We let them go after they–” Rachel starts, but Stan cuts in.

“We killed them.”

“You _what_?” Rachel hiccups, taking a step back.

The other Alphas look as shocked as her.

“I slit their throats, girl,” Stan grins maniacally. “I don’t care what your sister–”

Stiles’s roar of anger covers the rest of his words. He could feel the rest of the pack seething too, and it fueled his own rage. Boyd and Erica might not have ever been part of _his_ pack, but they’d been his friends, as much as anyone other than Scott had ever been. They were good people, if a bit messed up. 

Stiles remembers the scared look on their faces when he found them in Gerard Argent’s basement. His vision goes red, and he leaps into the protection barrier.

The spell shatters around him, briefly burning his skin before its power seeps into him. Two of the Alphas get in his way, but Stiles shoves them away with more strength than he knew he was capable of. He ignores Danielle’s growls from where she’s standing protectively in front of her sister. She’s no threat. She’s not his target. Stan is.

Stan shifts more completely, turning into a black monster similar to what Peter used to look like. Stiles knows what it means, he asked when he realized it didn’t happen to him. _Bloodlust_. There’s nothing more dangerous than an Alpha lost in bloodlust. 

Stan launches himself at Stiles, claws and teeth reaching, grabbing, closing down on Stiles’s flesh. Stiles doesn’t care. He reaches, through the pack bound, for the strength of his Betas. He reaches to the earth under his feet and the moon high in the sky and the pendant hanging against his chest. He reaches deep under his skin for the power of the barrier spell, still thrumming through him, and through it there’s Deaton’s magic and Lydia’s breathtaking _power_. And they’re letting him borrow it.

Stiles takes it all and, ignoring the blood running from his shoulder and his neck, he digs his claws into Stan’s chest and _tugs_. Stiles’s ears barely register the roar of pain that escapes the other Alpha under the rush of power and strength. Stealing Stan’s spark, his _magic_ , is almost too easy. But it’s not enough, not by far, and Stiles tugs harder, wills the wolf to come.

When it does, it’s like the world is exploding around him. He lets go of Stan, who slumps down on the ground, human again (and not only just in appearance), and he howls with the strength and power of two Alpha werewolves. 

Stan whimpers and Stiles looks down at him. He’s still vibrating with rage and power, and it would be so easy to just claw Stan’s throat out. He deserves it.

“Stiles!”

It’s Derek’s voice calling his name, Derek’s hand carefully tugging on his shoulder.

“He killed them.”

“This isn’t you, Stiles. You’re better than him. Better than most of us.”

Stiles’s vision clears partially, but there’s so much power in him, it’s getting hard to breath.

“I...I can’t give it to you,” he stutters out. “His wolf. I can feel it, feel its weird bond to the others, feel how it’s clinging to my magic. I wish I could give it to you, but I can’t. You don’t have magic.”

“Can you give it to her?” Danielle asks, pleadingly.

Stiles can sense her distress, her despair and her worry. Right now, she’s almost _pack_ , and she’s begging him. He looks back at Derek, not sure what he’s searching for on the older boy’s face, maybe permission, maybe approval, but Derek just stares back, lost and clueless and worried.

When he takes a step towards Rachel, Stan scrambles to his feet and tries to make a run for it, but Jackson gets in his way, growling.

“Let him go,” Stiles tells him. “He’s harmless now.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Scott, Isaac and Peter slowly getting back to their feet. They look exhausted, but Stiles can’t feel sorry for borrowing so heavily on their strength. He doesn’t think they resent it either.

Danielle takes a careful step to the side, her two remaining packmates joining her, and they all keep a wary eye on Stiles when he reaches Rachel.

“This is going to hurt,” he tells her. “I know, I’ve been there.”

She nods, and Stiles digs his claws in her chest. She cries out as he forces the second wolf out of him and into her. Next to them, Danielle makes a whimpering sound but the other Alphas wrap their fingers around her wrists to try and keep her calm.

When it’s over, Stiles staggers back and finds Derek’s strong chest against his back. He leans against it for a moment, catching his breath. Lydia’s power slips out of his grasp, as if she’d snatched it from his fingers, and he can hear her take a deep, relieved breath. Far away, there’s the sirens of police cars.

“We need to go before the cops get here,” he finally says. “Scott, call Allison and tell her and her dad to pack up and leave. You guys,” he looks at where Danielle is holding on Rachel’s shoulders, anchoring her into the here and now, “get the hell out of my town.”

“Yes sir,” one of the other wolves says, almost quietly. Stiles never caught their names, but he doesn’t care at all.

“Come on everybody, let’s go home.”

Somehow, “let’s go home” gets translated as “let’s all invade Stiles’s house while his dad is on his night shift”, and the pack ends up in Stiles’s living room, watching _The Notebook_ , of all things. 

Lydia is half sprawled on Jackson, mouthing along the dialogue with a tired smile while Isaac, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, leans against her thigh. Allison has her feet tucked under her as she and Scott sit on the other side of the couch, trying not to touch too much. Peter is sitting down next to Isaac, shoulders touching, his eyes resolutely glued to the tv screen. 

For some reason Allison’s dad and Scott’s mom, who had come to check on them after the fight, are still here, sitting together a bit awkwardly on the loveseat. Deaton’s the only one who left, after he received a phonecall from a woman whose voice reminded Stiles of Ms Morell. 

Sties is perched on the armrest of the armchair in which Derek is sitting. He’s still feeling wound up, and he keeps getting distracted by Derek’s scent. Wind and wilderness and spice, like always, but now Stiles can recognize the nuances and the feelings that lace through it. 

There’s sadness whenever he looks at the pack, all huddled up together, even though half of them can’t feel the pack bonds either. There’s a faint trace of curious arousal whenever Stiles’s dangling foot brushes against his thigh, or when their eyes catch. And there’s something else, something new, flaring every once in a while. Stiles thinks it might be hope.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says all of a sudden, because he’s bursting with energy and if he doesn’t do _something_ he’s going to slide in Derek’s lap and claim his mouth in front of everyone.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Derek says, getting up when Stiles does and following him to the kitchen.

There’s really no need for a second pair of hands to make tea, they realize once they’re waiting for the water to boil. Stiles is fidgeting with the tea ball as he leans against the kitchen counter next to Derek.

“So,” he starts softly, but he stops. He doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know how to offer it.

Derek is looking at him, staring with such intensity Stiles almost forgets he’s the one with the power here. He forgets about what he wanted to say, kissing Derek the only thing he can think of. So he does just that.

Derek’s mouth is warm and pliant, and Stiles slides his hands under his leather jacket, grabbing the fabric of the back of Derek’s shirt to pull Derek closer to him. He can feel his own pulse racing in his veins, can feel Derek’s heart beat faster against his as they explore each other’s mouth. 

Claws and fangs threaten to come out for a second, but Stiles keeps it under control by just focusing on Derek, what he tastes like and smells like and _feels_ like. When they part for air Derek throws his head back, baring his neck, and Stiles can’t resist the urge to kiss it, to worry at the Adam’s apple with his teeth.

“Stiles!” Derek breathes out, just shy of a moan, and Stiles hums against his skin, then nips playfully at Derek’s throat.

The scent of Derek’s arousal is almost intoxicating, and Stiles can’t help but rub himself against Derek’s hip, just once, before taking a step back. He’s only too aware that there are currently for werewolves with super-hearing sitting in his living room. One of them is his best friend, and other one is Derek’s uncle.

“Hum,” he says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I gave _this_ a little bit more thought, and...”

“Yeah.” Derek’s smile is small, but honest and real. It makes Stiles’s heart skip a beat.

“Good,” Stiles smiles back.

Derek reaches for the kettle, his hand brushing against Stiles’s arm, and he pours the water into the tea pot. Stiles drops the tea ball in it and stares at it. They have no reason to stay in the kitchen now, they should just grab a few cups and go back to the living room.

“I’m sorry you got the responsability of the pack thrust onto you,” Derek says gruffly. He’s avoiding Stiles’s eyes now, staring at the tiled floor.

“They’re not so bad,” Stiles replies with a soft smile, his eyes dragging back to the door leading to the living room. “I’m sorry I can’t give it all back to you, though. It must feel terrible.”

“I miss the feel of pack,” Derek admits reluctantly. “But I think you make a good Alpha.”

Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and Derek looks up at him.

“I could... I could give you the bite. If you want.”

Derek stares at him intensely, emotions playing in his blue-green eyes, and swallows.

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

They stand, frozen in place, for about a minute before Stiles huffs impatiently and takes a step forward. He can smell Derek’s anticipation, the spicey accent of his renewed arousal, can hear his heartbeat pick up as Stiles slowly slides the leather jacket off Derek’s arms. He lets his hands roam a little bit on the hard muscles there.

“Is any place better?” he asks, nosing Derek’s neck.

“Just avoid any major artery if you don’t want me to bleed to death,” Derek breathes out.

“‘Kay...”

Stiles kisses Derek’s neck, then slips his hands under his shirt to take it off. Derek lifts up his arms to help, and Stiles just stares at the view. He’s seen Derek shirtless before, but this is different, and he’s kind of amazed that he’s allowed to touch now. He lets his fingertips play lightly on Derek’s chest.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, or pleads, it’s hard to say.

“Yes, right.”

Stiles shakes himself. He’s still so keyed up from _everything_ that the shift is easy, the muscles and bones rearranging themselves in a split second. Derek’s scent seems stronger now that he’s wolfed out, his heartbeat louder in Stiles’s ears. Stiles takes a deep breath, steps closer so that their chests bump together.

He closes his teeth on Derek’s shoulder, feeling the skin break, the blood flow in his mouth. It should make him want to gag, he thinks, but it doesn’t. Derek is rigid against him, like he’s trying hard not to cry out in pain, and Stiles wrap his arms around his waist as he licks the wound clean.

“Thank you,” Derek breathes against Stiles’s neck.

Stiles turns his head to kiss him again. It’s slow and tender this time, more about comfort and intimacy than anything sexual. Stiles silently mourns the loss when Derek pulls his shirt back on. He leaves his jacket on a chair though, and the walk back to the living room with the tea pot and a handful of cups.

The tea is too strong, but no one comments on it, or on the fact that Stiles settles on Derek’s lap. There are a few glances, curious or amused or kind of happy, but by the time they pop in a second movie they mostly stop.

Isaac is the first to fall asleep, lightly snoring against Peter’s shoulder. It’s like a signal for the rest of the pack, and one by one they close their eyes. Stiles smile sleepily at the sight of them, all huddled together (that includes Mrs McCall and Mr Argent on the loveseat). They’re safe, for now. 

Stiles shifts into Derek’s lap to settle more comfortably, and Derek’s arm around his waist tightens slightly. His father will be here in a few hours, and he’ll probably have questions when he stumbles upon this scene, but Stiles guesses this’ll be as much a good time as any other to have that whole werewolf conversation.

Surrounded by his pack in the comfort of his home, Stiles falls asleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Alpha!Stiles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/599597) by [beenwandering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenwandering/pseuds/beenwandering)




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